


Soul Collector

by Jld71



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Death, Fights, Gen, Hospitalization, Souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jld71/pseuds/Jld71
Summary: Dean Winchester dies, again. He’s offered a job working for Purgatory.





	Soul Collector

**Author's Note:**

> Artist: milly_gal  
> Mini Bang: Dean Winchester Big Bang  
> Genre: Dean Winchester/Supernatural - AU  
> Beta: gatorgurl94

Soul Collector

 

Dean was dead, again. The how and why weren't important. What was important was that there was a voice speaking to him.

 

“What is it with you Winchesters? You die, you’re brought back, only to die again. Why can't you stay dead? Do you think this is a revolving door? You don't like being dead, poof, you're alive? Back in my day, the dead stayed, well dead.” The voice said matter-of-factly. “We didn't offer deals. We didn't bring you back because you asked so nicely. The answer was no and you stayed dead.” The figure of the voice began to move towards Dean. He was rail thin and tall, standing well over six feet eight inches in height. Hands on narrow hips clad in black trousers, ending in bare feet. No, Dean noticed, not bare feet. Black flip flops. His eyes traveled up the figure. He wore a red button down shirt, open at the collar, long sleeves ending at his wrists. Pale white skin emerged from the sleeves and neckline, leading to a thin neck on which an oblong shaped head rested. His thin lips were pursed together. His nose was long and thin against high cheekbones and round small eyes. They reminded Dean of a bird’s eye. His forehead disappeared under bangs that seemed to sweep in different directions. His hair stopped at the curve of his chin. Dean wasn't sure what the color was and he wasn't really interested. He heard the man muttering. “I miss the days when the dead stayed dead. I'd give anything for that.” 

 

He turned back to Dean, looking him up and down. Dean stared back, not understanding where he was or who the man was. “Who the hell are you and where am I?” The man let out a chuckle at Dean’s outburst.

 

“Forgive me, Dean. Where are my manners? Please have a seat.” With those words a desk and two chairs appeared before them. The man pulled out one chair and sat down. He drummed his fingers on the desk waiting for Dean to join him. Dean stood, arms crossed against his chest, legs slightly apart. “Dean, please don't be rude.” Brimley gestured to the empty chair. Wearily, Dean sat. 

 

“Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Staying dead. It seems that yet again, your death hasn't taken. But, there is a little twist. One I actually like, it seems . . . “

 

He didn't have a chance to finish his words as Dean cut in. “Listen, clearly I must have hit my head harder than I thought when I went down. This is making no sense. So, I'll ask you again, who are you and where am I?” The words were spat out in frustration as he brought his hands down on the desk. His palms connecting with the wooden surface, making a thudding sound. The man actually looked down his nose at Dean. If the situation wasn't so infuriating, Dean would have laughed. 

 

“Well, Mr. Winchester, clearly manners are less than desirable for you. Or should I say, the lack of.” The man held up his hands. “It's a statement not a question. My name is Brimley. I've been assigned to you. To help you through this transition, if you will.” Sliding one of the drawers to his right open, he withdrew a folder. Placing it on the desk, he quietly closed the drawer. “You see, you've been given an opportunity to reverse your death, again.”

 

 

Dean pushed back from the desk, knocking the chair over. A look of understanding finally washing over his features. He was dead, not unconscious. Not dreaming. Dead. He looked down, finally seeing the hole in his chest. His hands instinctively went to it. He tried to remember how it happened. Blinking several times, he willed the memory forward. No images appeared. Everything from after the time he'd left the bar was gone. Dean turned, eyes searching for a way out of this office, room? He wasn't sure, but there was nothing. Only the chairs, desk and the two of them. He backed away, feeling his body hit against the wall. 

 

Brimley walked around to the other side of the desk, bending, he righted the chair. “Dear, me. This is all new to you. Didn't your reaper explain any of this to you? No, most likely not. It's a cruel joke played on you, because of who you are.” He walked over and placed a hand gently on Dean’s elbow, guiding him back to the chair. “Let me fully explain. You see, there are levels of soul retrieval. I'm what's called a soul collector. I oversee the collecting of the souls, well I used to. Now, I oversee the new recruits. Think of me as a liaison for the souls collected. The reaper marks those souls that come due. Your job will be as a collector. You'll retrieve the marked souls. It's quite simple really. You'll exist in between both realms of the living and the dead. Unlike when you acted as Death for twenty-four hours, you will not have the ability to reveal yourself. This way, you're not able to interfere with what has been set in motion.” He held up a hand, stopping Dean from interrupting him. “Now, you do have a choice. If you say no, then your soul will go on to its predetermined Heaven or Hell. And before you ask, no I have no idea where your soul is going. We are never privy to that information. If you agree, you will serve one year as a collector. When your time is up, you will be returned to the moments after your death, alive and unharmed.” Brimley sat back in his chair and sighed. “You see, this deal isn’t offered all too often or too many. In fact, this deal hasn’t been offered in well, ever. You’re the first. The others, those also chosen as a reaper or a collector serve at least fifty to a hundred years before they move on. Some, decide to stay. Something I did centuries ago, to care for the souls.”

 

“Why? Why would you offer this to me? Do you really think I'd work for Crowley again? That didn't go so well the first or second time he tried it.”

 

Brimley let out a low laugh. “Dean, I as well as everyone here, do not work for Heaven or Hell. We simply work to make sure the souls are collected and make it to the next part of their journey. This is what Purgatory was before it was corrupted. Before you and your brother upset the balance of order. Before Heaven and Hell, demon and angels were involved.” 

 

He pushed the folder toward Dean. He placed tentative fingers on it. Looking from it to Brimley and back again. Opening it, he saw the contents. It was a file on his life as well as a contract. “Take your time in reading the contract. It's the standard contract, I can assure you, but I know you won't take my word for it.”

 

Dean looked up, wanting to give some smart ass remark, but thought better of it. As if sensing this, Brimley gave him a tight smile and then sighed. Brimley pushed back from the desk. He rested his hands on the desk for leverage, hauling himself up to his full height. “I'll give you some time to read over everything. Simply call out when you've made your choice.” With a snap of his fingers, a door appeared. Quietly, he closed it behind himself, leaving Dean with the contract.

 

When Dean looked up a few moments later, the door was gone. 

 

Dean leaned back in the chair, hands rubbing up and down his face. He sighed, trying to figure out his next move. Clearly he wasn't getting out of here without making a decision. He just wasn't sure what it would be. He should at least read the contract. Maybe the deal was just what Brimley said it was. He quirked an eyebrow at the thought. In his experience, either with Demons or Angels, he never seemed to come out ahead when making a deal. Somehow there was a loophole or a small bit of information forgotten or withheld. Though, if this wasn't part of Heaven or Hell, maybe there was a chance he wouldn't get screwed. 

 

Picking up the paperwork he began to read through it. Thankfully, it wasn't as long as one of Crowley’s contracts. It was actually only three pages long. It was specific in its terms of agreement, as Brimley had stated. If he agreed, he'd work as a soul collector for the span of one year, as it passed on earth. He would work with a reaper, making sure the correct person’s soul was collected, painlessly. The soul would then be brought to Purgatory for its journey, ending in either Heaven or Hell. He would keep his bodily form, but would not be seen by the living. He would have no interaction with the living. He would have no involvement with the reaping. Unless, the soul being reaped was the wrong one. Then, he would be able to stop the reaping until the matter was solved. At the end of his service, he would be returned to the moments after his death alive, body healed. He'd be alive. He read through the contract several times, searching for a loophole. Finding none, he made his choice.

 

“Brimley.” He called out to the empty room. Moments later the door reappeared. Slowly it opened, revealing Brimley’s tall form. He stepped through and closed the door. This time, the door remained. Brimley crossed the room and took his seat across from Dean. Dean eyed the door, but instinct told him it would be useless to attempt leaving. The door would most likely disappear. If he did manage to make it out, he had no idea of where he was.

 

Dean eyed Brimley suspiciously. He had seen reapers at work before. They could be ruthless, ripping a soul from its living body before its time. Leaving the body a husk and soul screeching in agony. It was a horrible sight and an even worse way to die. That was something he wanted no part of, inflicting agony on the dying. He shuddered at the memory of his time in a coma, lingering between both worlds. He'd seen a reaper in their true form. At first, he'd been shocked, the creature had an almost Wraith-like appearance to it. But, that had been Hell’s version of a reaper.

 

“Have you made a decision?”

 

“I have one question, who do we report to, if not Heaven or Hell?” 

 

Brimley chuckled at this. “Think of us as independent contractors. We’re given names of those whose souls have come due. The reaper marks them, we collect them. We do not take sides. It's not our job. It never was. It wasn't until God went on his vacation that the power play was made between Heaven and Hell. Things were twisted, corrupted. Now, we're in the process of balancing things out. We are not the ones who choose the destination of the soul, only the deeds of that soul can.” He sat back against his chair, hands clasped before him on the desk. 

 

The answer resonated true to Dean. He could do this, for a year. It wasn't like he was in Hell being tortured. He wouldn't have to torture anyone to make his pain stop. “Yeah, I've made my decision. I'll sign the contract.”

 

A smile appeared on Brimley’s face. “Excellent choice.” He produced a pen from his shirt pocket and handed it to Dean. Dean flipped to the last page and brought the pen down to sign. He stopped and looked at the man across from him. The man was watching him, face expressionless. 

 

“Something wrong?” 

 

“Why can't I remember my death?” 

 

A sigh escaped the man’s throat. “That's done so your choice isn't made out of remembrance of your death. Some found it traumatic. This way, you can choose based on what you feel is right. It's also done so that when you return, you have no memory of you death. It never happened, in a senses.” 

 

Dean leaned over the desk. Bringing the pen back to the signature line. He signed his name. With a nod, Dean slid everything back to Brimley, who swept everything into the desk drawer and stood up. “Come with me. Let's get some clean clothes on you and then I'll introduce you to the reaper you'll be working with. I hope you like the color black. That's the standard for collectors and reapers.”

 

“As long as we don't look like the Blues Brothers, I'm good.”

 

Brimley chuckled, catching Dean’s attention. “I met him. Jim Belushi. Well, not when he was alive, mind you.” He heard Dean chuckling and turned back to him.

 

“Name dropping?”

 

The man let out a laugh and turned slightly pink. “I never told you that, you hear me?” He mumbled just loud enough for Dean to hear. 

 

Dean put up his hands, “Never heard a thing.” 

 

He followed the man until they reached a door at the end of the corridor they had been walking down. If he didn't know better, he would have thought they were in some type of warehouse. Brimley opened the door and step through, followed by Dean. They stood in what looked like a dormitory shower room. Dean eyed the man warily. Brimley just ignored him, walking over to a locker and pulling out a few towels. He motioned for Dean. Dean cautiously stepped forward. Brimley handed him the towels. “Through there, you can take a shower. Everything you might need, you'll find in a locker with your name on it. Once you're done, follow the exit sign and I'll meet up with you. Without another word, Brimley walked in the direction he'd indicated to Dean. Dean stood, surveying his surroundings. This was a far cry from the last time he'd been in Purgatory. Last time he spent a year in Purgatory, he had to fight to stay alive. Everyday was a struggle to survive. He'd take where he was over that version any day. 

 

Dean walked into the adjacent room to find a locker with his name on it. Opening it, he searched through it. He came upon clean clothes, boots and the essentials for freshening up. Grabbing what he needed he walked over to the shower and turned on the water. After the water heated to a comfortable temperature, Dean shed his clothes and stepped in. He let the water wash over him, the heat hitting sore spots on his shoulders. Normally, he was in and out in under fifteen minutes, including getting dressed. Right now, he was content to stay where he was. Slowly he began to feel the tension leave his body. 

 

With a sigh, he turned off the water. He dried off, finished grooming, got dressed and followed the exit sign. As he stepped out, he was greeted by Brimley. He motioned for him to join him and another person. The man was dressed similar to Dean; boots, jeans, a shirt and jacket, all in black. The only difference was, Dean’s shirt was a V-neck where the others man's wasn't.  That's where any similarities stopped “Dean, this is the reaper you'll be working with.” Dean eyed the man before him. He stood around five feet, seven inches with a stocky build. He wore glasses which he kept nervously pushing back on his beak like nose. His brown eyes were set close together and his lips were thin lines. His ruddy complexion darkened under Dean's scrutiny. He extended his hand. “I'm Maury, Maury Abrand.” His hand hung in the air for a moment before Dean finally shook it, introducing himself as he did. Abrand’s voice was nasally and high pitched. He looked like some poor guy who was always the butt of someone's jokes.

 

“Alright, gentlemen, let's get this over with. You've both been given your duties as a reaper and collector. Each morning, Dean will be given a list of names and their corresponding picture, usually no more than five, no less than three.” He held up a phone and then handed it to Dean. “The names will be sent by this phone. As you complete your list, Dean will cross the names off.” He turned to Maury and handed him a phone. “You will also be given the same list and picture, as a way of cross checking. You will mark the souls so Dean can collect them. Any question?”

 

Maury opened his mouth several times, making him look like a fish out of water, gulping for air. Dean stepped forward. “How are we expected to get from place to place or back with the soul?”

 

Bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, Brimley squeezed it. “I keep forgetting you're both new recruits. All you'll need to do is say the person’s name. That will bring you to them or at least within their vicinity. Then you do your job. When you have the soul, you then say return to Purgatory. You'll deposit the soul with me or another like me and then you'll continue until your list is completed. Upon your return for the night, you’ll find your sleeping quarters and retire for the night. It's all quite simple. Any other questions?”

 

Maury raised his hand. Dean looked at him and shook his head in disbelief, the guy actually raised his hand. Brimley looked at the man. “Yes, Maury what is it?”

 

“Does this mean we’ll be roomies?” He stepped closer and attempted to place an arm around Dean’s shoulders. Dean gave him a look of horror before stepping away from the man.

 

“Do that again and you'll wish you chose your final destination. We are not roomies, best buds, whatever. You got me? I'm just serving my year.” Dean found himself groaning inwardly. This was the reaper he'd be stuck with for the next year? Maybe taking his chances seeing where his soul ended up would have been a better choice. He sighed, resigning himself to his life for the next year. Hell, it could have been worse. He could be in hell right now. So, he’d just have to suck it up and deal. 

 

Maury dropped his head to his chest in a full-on pout. Dean felt a flicker of regret at his harsh tone and words. 

 

Brimley stepped in to cut the tension. “To answer your question, no. You each will have your own quarters. Although, you'll find there's very little need for sleep. And you don't need to eat. But, soul reaping and soul collecting can be trying and we do believe in giving you down time. And, Dean is correct. You're not here to make friends. While I prefer that you are cordial to each other friendship is not a requirement to perform your job. Now, I think everything has been sorted out. Off you go.”

 

Both phones rang simultaneously, catching Dean and Maury’s attention. A grin formed on Maury’s face. He could barely contain his excitement. “Dude, we got our first list.” He said and gave Dean a thumbs-up.

 

Dean rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. “Awesome.”

 

Dean knew the first moment he laid his eyes on Maury, this was not going to go well. If he wasn't working with Sam, then he preferred to work alone. There was something about this guy that rubbed Dean the wrong way. Maybe it was the feeling that the guy had tried to latch on to him. Or that he seemed twitchy. As a hunter, that could get you killed. But, Dean reminded himself, he wasn't a hunter. At least not at the present time. With a sigh, he walked over to join Maury. Phone in hand, he opened his list to compare it with the reaper’s. There were three names with photos, both matching the other’s list. Dean was thankful he at least didn't recognize them. He hoped he’s never see a name of someone he knew on his list, making a mental note to ask Brimley about that. Were they ever assigned to someone they knew and how were they supposed to handle it? He didn’t think he’d be able to collect a fellow hunter’s soul, let alone Sam’s.

 

Saying the first name, Ann Miles, they found themselves standing in a hospital room. An elderly woman lay in the bed, her chest barely moving with the intake of breath. Maury approached her, hand outstretched. Gently, he placed his hand on hers. The area where Maury touched shimmered. Her eyes fluttered open, looking around the room. She looked at her hand and locked eyes with Dean. She reached out the same hand to Dean. He reached out, tasking her hand in his. He and Maury watched in awe as the woman's soul began to separate itself from her body. A sigh of contentment escaped her lips. Her body relaxed and a look peace settled over her features. 

 

The machine monitoring her vitals began to alarm, indicating her death. Several staff members filed in, and attempted to revive her. Dean turned and looked at the woman's soul. It shimmered as it floated next to him. The soul looked like shimmering wispy pieces of satin moving back and forth in an unfelt breeze. The soul reached out and grazed against Dean’s fingers. He looked down and smiled. A feeling of peace settled over him. He realized it was what the soul was feeling. Whatever she had been dealing with prior to her death didn't matter. She was at peace with her passing. Dean turned to the soul and caught Maury’s eyes. They needed to help her move on to Purgatory. With a nod, Dean brought them back to Purgatory. They were met by Brimley who led the soul on to its predetermined destination.

 

“Dude, that was amazing.” Maury said in whisper.

 

Dean looked over at Maury, who had a wide awestruck smile on his face. Maury shuffled back and forth on his feet. One hand in his pocket as the other fidgeted with his glasses waiting for Dean’s response.

 

“Come on, we still have a job to do.”

 

The second and third soul collecting went the same as the first. If this was how Dean had to spend a year, bringing peace to those suffering he could do it. There were worse ways to spend a year. He shivered as the memories of being Alastair’s apprentice tried to surface. He forced them down, locking them back in place.

 

Once done with their small list, Dean searched Brimley out, feeling the need to have his questions answered. He found him speaking to another reaper and waited for the conversation to end. Brimley turned to him, face expressionless. “Dean, something I can do your you?” Dean approached the man, looking directly into his eyes. “What happens if we’re ever assigned to reap or collect a soul of someone we know? Do we get to take a pass or do we have to . . .” Dean’s voice trailed off as Brimley held up a hand to stop him. “We do our best to make sure that never happens. But, on the off chance it does, feel free to contact me at once. We still retain our feelings as reapers and collectors. No one should have to go through something like that.” Brimley gave him a tight-lipped smile and walked away, leaving Dean with his own thoughts.

 

The worst for Dean was collecting the soul of a child. The first time he had to, it felt like a knife had pierced his heart. He stood there looking at the little body, thinking how unfair life really was. Collecting a soul before it even had a chance at life. It wasn't until he heard Maury clearing his throat that he brought himself out of his thoughts and back to the task at hand. While he knew it had to be done, it didn't make it any easier. Children died, it was a fact of everyday life. He took extra care with soul collecting when it came to children, making sure it was gentle and they were cared for. The last thing he wanted to cause stress to such a tiny soul.

 

There was always someone bigger and badder out there, or at least someone who thought they were. Dean knew this. He never went looking for a confrontation, but if one presented itself he was sure as hell gonna do his best to come out on top. So far, he hadn’t had any issues with any of the other reapers or collectors he came in contact with. In fact, he tried to have as little contact with the others as possible. He was a loner in life, the only person he ever really needed was his brother, no reason to change that now. He’d just bide his time until he met the terms of the contract and be returned to the living.

 

“Winchester!” Dean closed his eyes, not wanting to turn around. But he did, false smile plastered on his face.

 

“Think ya something special, don't ya? Former hunter, former demon, weren't you Crowley's bitch there at one point?” He heard the voice snicker at his own words.

 

Dean felt his hands curl into fists. He felt himself widening his stance ever so slightly. Muscles tensing at the possibility of a fight. But, he stayed where he was, not moving just sizing up man who had tried to call him out.

 

He saw Maury standing to his right, mouth agape. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the man who'd spoken to Dean. By the looks of him, he was just another asshole douche. But, Dean wasn't dropping his guard. The man was slightly shorter than Dean. He was thin, but not rail thin like Brimley. His eyes were hidden by a mass of green colored hair. In fact, it covered most of his face. The man wore the same clothes as a collector and aside from the hair, there was nothing that made him stand out. 

 

Dean cocked his head, waiting for the guy to speak. “Name’s Mason. I'm gonna take you down.” He said, mistaking the eyebrow Dean raised as curiosity, instead of what it really meant. That who the hell are you to give me shit, meaning. “I've been collecting souls for years. Yet, you show up and a sweet deal is offered to you. You think you're top dog around here? I'm the alpha, you're the bitch. Got it?”

 

Dean took a step forward, the need to punch the dick in the face was really strong. He curled his lips into a sardonic smile. “You think I give a shit? I'm just here to fulfill my contract. Not looking for a fight or a competition.” 

 

Mason took a couple of steps forward until he was only a few inches from Dean. Hate radiated from the guy, lips curled into a snarl. He looked like he was about to say something when Mason’s phone went off and his reaper appeared near Maury. “Mason, stop dicking around. We've got work to do.”

 

Mason turned on his heel and stalked off, walking past his reaper who threw Dean an apologetic smile, then followed after Mason. “Why do you always gotta be a dick?” Dean heard the reaper ask. He cracked a small smile at the comment before turning and heading back in the direction of his quarters. 

 

Maury caught up to him. “You okay?”

 

Dean fought back the urge to snap at him. Maury was only trying to break the tension. Trying to be nice. After spending some time with Maury Dean knew they’d never be friends, but Maury was harmless. Maury just wanted to fit in, be friends with Dean and his fellow reapers. He’d proven himself a good guy, offering kind words to those he reaped, being as gentle as possible. Despite their first meeting, Dean had to admit to himself that Maury was a pretty decent guy. Maury was a little too eager to impress at times and definitely awkward, but nice.

 

“Yeah, looks like soul collectors can be douches, too.”

 

Maury let out a huff of breath, nodding in agreement. “Okay, I'll catch you tomorrow.” He waved a hand at Dean’s retreating figure. Dean grunted a response back as he continued to his quarters. He just wanted some peace and quiet and to be left alone. The last thing he wanted was some kind of fight with a jackass he never knew existed until today.

 

Closing the door to his quarters, he'd taken to calling it his space in his mind. That's all it really was. The space was only an eight foot by ten foot closet with a cot and just enough room to open the door and take a step or two inside. He sighed and kicked off his boots and hung his jacket on the hook on the back of the door. He let his body sink down to the cot. Arms folded behind his head and legs crossed at his ankles, he waited for his phone to ring indicating the start of a new day. One day closer to fulfilling his contract.

****

 

Life, such as it was continued on like this for Dean. There was a list every morning. Brimley was true to his words, whoever sent the list was careful to make sure the names of a reaper’s or a collector’s loved ones or friends weren't sent to them. The one time he’d heard that it happened, the person’s soul had been immediately reassigned to another reaper and collector. Dean was grateful for that. He wasn't too sure he would have been able to collect the soul of someone he knew. He knew Maury wouldn't have been able to, he was what Dean would call sensitive.

 

Dean was surprised when he heard a knock on his door. That had never happened before. He got up from the cot and took the few steps to the door. Opening it to find Maury standing there. He swung the door open and leaned against the door jam, waiting for Maury to speak. Maury seemed especially twitchy right now. Something that set him on edge. “Hey, did you hear the news? There's a rumor of rogue collector taking souls. At least they think it's a collector. I guess it could be a reaper. Seems unlikely, though.” He started chewing on his bottom lip as he finished speaking.

 

“You're telling me this why? We only collect those on our list.” Dean’s eyes narrowed at Maury. “Someone thinks it's me. Awesome. Well, it ain't me. I have no reason to go rogue. You can tell those sons of bitches to screw themselves.” Dean turned and slammed the door. Leaning his forehead against the coolness of the door, letting his anger subside.

 

Days passed into weeks. Weeks passed into months. He was no longer sure how long he'd been in Purgatory. Time passed differently here. Not that it really mattered. What mattered was fulfilling his side of the contract and making sure the other side, the part that mattered most to him was. Not that he cared about the other reapers or collectors he came in contact with, though he did notice they tended to give him a wide berth. The only one he really had contact with was Maury. He figured it was because of the so called rogue rumors. He chuckled to himself. Even when he'd been a demon, he'd never really gone rogue. Well, except the time he turned the tables on Lester. Rather than killing his wife, which was the deal Lester made. Dean had decided to kill him instead. Served the asshole right. 

 

The rumors bothered him at first, not knowing where they came from or who had started them. But, rumors were rumors. He didn’t need or want to waste time or energy trying to prove to everyone that he wasn’t involved. He did his job, that was all that mattered at this point. Maury had made it known to anyone who would listen to him, that Dean was in no way involved. He’d told Dean several times that he’d back him up. That anyone who had seen the way Dean collected a soul would know he wasn’t the rogue. Maury had laughed at the thought of it being Dean, knew that when Dean collected a soul it was done with care and sympathy. The idea that Dean would then go and so cruelly rip a soul away didn’t make sense to Maury. He’s even asked Dean why he didn’t when it was discovered that a rogue was working among them why Dean mount a defense? Proclaim his innocence? Dean had laughed at the idea. “Maury, why bother? I know the truth. It ain’t me that’s doing it. I’ve got nothing to hide. Nothing to fear. But, uh thanks for having my back.” Maury had blushed at the words and mumbled it was nothing. Since that time, they had become comfortable around each other. Maury was less nervous around him. Dean did his best not to snap at Maury, knowing he wasn’t used to Dean’s sarcastic way of looking at things.

 

The ringing of his phone pulled him from his thoughts on the past. He looked down, seeing the names and pictures. Duty called. He grabbed his jacket, out of habit, not necessity and slipped into it. As he closed the door to his quarters, he met up with Maury. They compared their lists before saying the first name. The day had gone on without issue, until the last name on their list. As the name left his lips, he felt uneasy.

 

He watched in horror as the soul was ripped from its body. The reaper didn't have a chance to do his job to make the collecting painless. The soul let out an ear-piercing scream as the collector wrenched it from the dying woman's body. The woman's body snapped forward, jerking up in the bed. Her face contorted in pain, lips forming a silent O as if to scream. Her eyes were open, but unseeing as the life drained from her. Dean shuddered at the sight of the soul twisting, trying to get free from the other collector’s grasp. The other collector, Mason looked at Dean, lips turned up into a snarl, eyes flashing with anger from being caught. Dean lunged forward, grabbing the man's wrist, trying to wrestle the soul free. 

 

“Maury, don’t just stand there, move your ass and get this soul. Take her to Purgatory.” 

 

He watched as Maury moved forward, coming around to aide Dean. Together they managed to free the soul, leaving her In Maury’s care. In an instant, both were gone, leaving Dean to deal with the collector before him. Mason howled in rage at losing the soul. Dean cursed at not having anything to fight with. No angel blade, gun or knife, he hadn't needed them. He wasn't even sure if any of those could or would kill a soul collector. It had never come up before now.

The only thing Dean could do was try to get a hold on the man. Dean felt himself being forced to his knees as Mason fought back. “Son of a bitch.” Dean spit the words out, trying to find some leverage. He managed a sucker punch, which caught the man off guard. Mason stumbled back but then advanced, giving Dean only a moment to get to his feet. Dean caught the man by the neck, fingers digging into what should have been flesh. As his fingers dug in Dean notice the area starting to tear, exposing a black substance that began to drip down Mason’s neck onto his chest. Dean dug his fingers in deeper. Mason hissed in pain. 

 

“Hurts, you piece of shit? Good to know.” Using both hands, Dean began to widen the tear. The black substance began to drip faster, weakening the man. As he continued to pull and rip, the tear became longer and wider. The blood like substance coated his gingers, making it harder to keep his hold on Mason. He felt his fingers slipping. He used Mason’s own clothes to try and wipe some of it off. He wasn't giving up this fight, not after seeing the agony Mason had caused this soul and knowing he probably done the same thing to countless others. Dean managed to dig his fingers back into the tear he'd caused, twisting his fingers in deep. Mason screamed in pain as Dean tore harder. Finally Dean felt the fight beginning to drain from Mason. With one last surge of adrenaline he pried at the gaping hole even hard, ripping him apart.  

 

A wave of light surged forth from where Mason had been standing. The force of it, knocking Dean back and off his feet. Oh crap, this can't be good he thought as black spots appeared before his eyes and he slumped into unconsciousness.

 

Dean looked up into hazel eyes. The face before him swam in and out of his line of vision. When he finally managed to focus his eyes, he saw Sam leaning down over him, a look of concern coloring his features. “Dean, don't try to talk. You've still got the breathing tube in. I'll get the doctor.” Sam turned, opened the door and called for help before returning to his bedside. Moments later, the door swung open and medical staff appeared, moving Sam out of the way. He watched as Sam moved, standing against the wall, but still in his line of sight. A voice snapped his attention back to the staff. “Mr. Winchester, I'm Doctor Morrison. Nice to see you among the living. Before the breathing tube is removed, we need to make sure you're able to breath on your own. Nod if you understand me.”

 

Dean looked at the doctor with irritation in his eyes, but nodded. The machine was halted, allowing Dean to breath on his own, without issue. Happy with the outcome, the doctor began to explain the removal process. “We're going to remove the breathing tube. This means that we’ll need to suction your airway before and after removal. You may feel the need to cough as the tube is removed. That's fine if you do. You're going to feel slight discomfort. Your throat will feel raw and sore. Try not to speak. Nod if you understand me.” 

 

Dean looked at the doctor, not understanding his words at first. Finally letting the words sink in, he nodded. The doctor and nurse began the process of removing the tube, ending with Dean coughing several times. He was handed a cup filled with ice chips to suck on. “The nurse will monitor your vitals. Remember, try not to talk.” With a tight smile, the doctor left the room giving the brothers some privacy. Sam took two or three steps to the bed and was hugging his brother. Finally letting go, Sam pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down.

 

Ignoring the doctor’s orders, Dean managed to croak out, “Dead?”

 

Sam’s head snapped up hearing him. “Dead?” He misunderstood what Dean was trying to ask. “No the guy who did this to you isn't dead. He's in jail. Serving a life sentence for attempted murder. I had to testify as a witness, not that I’d seen anything. But I was there, was covered in your blood. I saved all the newspaper clipping of the arrest and trial in case. Um, in case you ever wanted to read about it. Wasn’t sure if you would, ya know want to read about it.”

 

Dean shook his head in frustration. “No . . .” The pain from talking was too much. His throat, despite have some ice chips to soothe it, was still raw. He indicated to himself by pointing to his chest. 

 

Realizing what Dean meant, Sam looked away trying to get his emotions under control before responding. Fact was, he had died, on the operating table. He had been clinically dead for nearly two minutes before they had been able to restart his heart. After that, it had been a waiting game. The damage the guy had done, stabbing Dean in the chest, had been repaired. Then it had been up to Dean's body to recover. It had been the scariest seven months of Sam’s life. He had never felt so alone or so helpless. There had been no angels to call on, no demon deals to be made. Not this time. The damage had been done by a man. An ordinary man. Turned out, Dean had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The man mistakenly took Dean for someone else when he'd attacked. It was a blitz style attack, over quickly. Dean had nearly lost his life over an argument between two men that he didn’t even know. The attacker had blindsided Dean outside of a bar called The Barn as he was walking to the Impala. They had stopped for a drink after a job they'd just finished. The thing they'd been hunting had been put down. The folks around town, never being the wiser. They were nearly out of town when they decided to stop. Dean had gotten up, ready to leave. Sam had been paying their tab, talking to their waitress when it'd happened. Sam heard screaming coming from outside. He looked up searching for Dean, not finding him in the bar a tendril of fear began to rise in his stomach. Sam had rushed out to the parking lot to find Dean, on the ground, knife sticking out of his chest. Curiosity drew people from the bar and those who had been outside to see what was going on. He heard someone calling 911. He'd managed to stop someone from pulling the knife free as they attempted CPR. He'd heard later, that had stopped Dean from bleeding out. The paramedics had tried to separate them. He fought like hell to stay with him. Urging Dean not to give up. It wasn't until they wheeled Dean into the operating room, that he'd finally let go of Dean’s hand. Only to look down and see he was covered in his brother’s blood.

 

The police had shown up at the ER and the bar, taking statements, pictures, Dean’s clothes, asking when they could speak to his brother. In the end, it didn't matter. They had enough eyewitness accounts and security footage from the bar’s parking lot security cameras to put the guy, Sy Colms away. It had been little comfort to Sam at the time. The doctors still couldn't tell him when or if Dean would come out of the coma. The team of doctors over seeing Dean’s care had made the decision to keep Dean in the ICU. Sam got a job as an orderly and a place to stay nearby. He did his best to stay with Dean, even taking over his physical therapy to keep his muscles from atrophying. 

 

Returning his attention back to Dean, Sam managed to answer him, his voice shaking with emotion. “Yeah, dude you did. For like two minutes. But, they got you back. You've been here for nearly seven months.”

 

Dean's eyes widened at the news. What color he had in his face drained. Seven months? He'd lost seven months. But, he was alive. And, Sam was here with him. Sam looked at Dean and muttered something about letting his boss know he'd be late for his shift. He left the room, waving his phone then punching in some numbers. Dean moved the hospital gown down his chest to look at the healed wound. It lay just to the left of his anti-possession tattoo. He ran his fingers over it, feeling the raised skin. He knew how close he came to actual death that day. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. The door swung open as a very tall man entered, ducking down so he wouldn't hit his head. 

 

“Mr. Winchester, I just wanted to see how are. I'm Mr. Brimley head of patient relations. You can think of me as a liaison between you and the hospital.” Dean’s eyes widened at the sight of Brimley entering his room. Brimley smiled as he heard Dean try to whisper the name “Belushi.” Brimley took a step closer. “Never heard a thing, remember? Your time was shortened after you did what you did for that poor soul. Maury’s contract was broken and he was allowed to move on. Good luck.”

 

Before anything else could be said, Sam entered the room. With a smile and a nod to both men, Brimley retreated leaving them alone.

 

Looking back at the closed door in confusion, Sam asked. “Dude, who was that?” Before taking his seat next to Dean’s bed.

 

Dean looked up, green eyes sparkling with renewed life as he managed to croak out. “Long story.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Soul Collector by Jdl71](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729786) by [millygal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal)




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